So I am back, after three weeks absconding from work in the name of retreat writing. Who is going to attack me for laziness when I did produce a 30000 word novella, never mind that it might not be publishable material? Yeah, you did not see me lying by the pool in a yellow thingy that only barely managed to hide the side padding at my waist. And you did not see me taking long idyllic walks by the ocean, scrambling and screaming every time massive crabs crawled out of their wet holes and thingies with tails escaped from sandy mounds at low tide. Nah that was not me screaming, it was the cute cuddly teddy bear we carried along with us, yeah the one who is very good at slamming doors when she does not get her way.
Anyway, a bunch of writers were pulled together by a publishing company which we from this moment call Company X, harnessed with instructions on how to produce a book that is interesting enough to compete with the novels Kenyans commonly read, when they do read, then catapulted out to a beachside resort with stern warnings not to waste the time at the heavenly paradise, and to make sure they return with works of superior entertainment quality. I managed to squeeze myself into the baggage compartment and no one noticed until we arrived in hot, sandy Watamu.
The first thing I did, was change into the yellow thingy, follow my best friend who dumped me, whom we will now call Lady Z, outside then jump right into the pool. That is where the comparison between me and Lady Z ends. Where she is large and elegant in water, I am large and getting the muscle cramp of a life time, right in the middle of my thigh. Sad to say, Lady Z is too busy being elegant to notice. The only other person in the pool is Professor BBA, who I would rather not call out to. He notices my struggle, dip, struggle, sink, swallow a mouthful of chlorinated water, sink some more and continue struggling. And he watches with lazy boredom from the farthest edge of the pool. I however, by now have figured out that I am not likely to be elegant, and that if I do not harness some common sense I will die from either the muscle cramp, or the chlorine water. So I swallow a stomachful of chlorine water and force myself to stop panicking and strike out. Oh yeah, I did that once before, when water did not make me freeze inside. Duh!
Out at the shallow end, I stand at the edge, my heart still beating so hard it aches, my stomach full of water, and my leg still in a tight knot and I’m thinking, girl! did I jump into the deep end and way out of my depth! And I’m not talking about the swimming pool either.
See, the reason I am talking about nearly drowning while Lady Z and Professor BBA watch, is because what is bothering me has nothing to do with nearly drowning while Lady Z and Professor BBA watch. Right now it has everything to do with being back to real life and wanting to run away all over again.
Next month I am moving out on my own again. I did this once before when I was 18 and it was a breeze for four years, until I fell so ill I had to return home for another 4 years. Now, it is time to grow up and this time it is harder than when I was 18.I’ve found excuses, from the apartments being bloody expensive and not too well finished, to not finding one in just the right place, so much so an Aunt who very clearly does not approve of my bumming ways found me an apartment that is so great I can’t say no, and I can afford it too. So I guess I am moving out on my own.
Yesterday, I told the guy I have been seeing for five months that I didn’t see how we could work out together. Sure, he is a great guy, good-looking (might be the problem), fun-loving, intelligent, and way too irresponsible. No, I am not rooting for a nest; I just would rather not stay up late half a night wondering if the poor sod had an accident on his way from a biking trip on the wrong side of the country. No, he will not call to say he is alright, but he will show up just when I am about to fall asleep, with cutesy words that make me forget that I was a weirdo overpossesive, overprotective, clingy shrew ranting to myself through half the night. I’m done with that one.
Okay fine, so his crazy ways combined with mine are not the real reason for my ending it. How about waking up one day and figuring out that you are in love with a very good friend who is seeing someone else, and who is not likely to ever see you through love bubble shaded eyeglasses?
Run to Watamu and pretend to write.
Well, everything that has a beginning does have an end, and running away must come to an end. Blithering blisters! A muscle cramp in the middle of the pool is nothing compared to a heart telling you things that you know are off the mark. So what, kid? Stop panicking and swim, or swallow water and die. Either way, I am still way out of my depth.